


The Final Burn

by knel03



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: One Shot, kind of a poem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:55:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29464623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knel03/pseuds/knel03
Summary: A poem-like one shot.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	The Final Burn

The candle was finally on its last burn. 

It took just a year to burn it completely.

She burned it as often as she could and watched as the wick slowly blackened and disappeared. 

The smell remained as strong as when she first received it. The forest, amber, sandalwood, and something spicy she wasn't sure the name of. 

It smelled like him. 

He had one in his dark dorm room, constantly filling the space. Placed on his end table right next to the green sheets of the bed she slept on most nights that year. 

Some nights, the light of the candle was all that illuminated the room. It shone in his silver eyes as they took in her golden body. 

The warmth from the single candle just enough for the two of them as they met on the firm mattress. 

He had given it to her before he left. A brand new one for her to burn. 

Except this time alone. 

She had known that they wouldn't last. One year was what they promised themselves. And he would never break a promise. 

Still, the pain she felt was more than she could handle. She couldn't even bring herself to burn the candle for a month. 

But then she missed his smell. 

The first burn hurt the most. Instead of the subtle warmth it brought before, this had just brought white-hot fury. 

She wasn't mad at him. She was mad at herself. For letting a silly candle get the best of her. For letting a silly candle control her. 

Salty tears mixed with the wax that day as she leaned over to blow it out. 

The smell lingered. 

She burned it again. 

She had been burning the candle for six months when the letter arrived. 

The one announcing his wedding. 

When she burned the candle that night, she had placed the corner of the white invitation over the small flame. Watching as his name shriveled. 

Her friends would come to visit and they would tell her that her flat smelled nice. 

But they didn't know. Didn't know that it wasn't her flat that smelled nice. It was him who smelled nice. 

It was him who would constantly linger. 

It was him who filled her personal space every second of every day. 

Even as he was getting used to the smell of someone else, she was still taking in his scent. His presence. 

But she kept burning it. 

Couldn't stand the thought of going without it. 

She had been burning the candle for eight months when the paper delivered the news. 

A baby. 

He was having a baby. An heir. 

They were pushing the wedding date up. For the baby. 

She wondered what flowers they would use. What they would smell like. 

Again, salty tears mixed with the melted wax. 

She didn't burn the candle on the special day. 

He was already going to have so much that day. He didn't deserve her to be thinking of him. Savoring his scent. 

So she went the whole day without it. Without him. 

Her friends noticed the smell was lighter. She told them she forgot to light it. 

But then she burned it again. 

It was finally coming up on twelve months. A year since she had been burning his candle.

A year since she had been without him. 

A year without the subtle warmth or the green sheets. 

A year with just his lingering smell. 

She watched him in the papers. She would focus on his silver eyes. The ones that used to take her in. 

The silver eyes that looked so beautiful in the single flame now looked dead. 

She hated herself for feeling happy about it. For relishing in his misery. 

But if she had to go with just this stupid candle, then he could go without her. 

She hoped he was a good husband. A good father. 

But she hoped he was miserable. 

The final burn ironically took place on the anniversary of their first night together. 

As she watched the wick slowly die out, she remembered every place his hands had been. 

Every place his lips touched her body. 

He had found her wandering the corridors, lost in her own thoughts. 

He threw a snide comment. She threw one back. 

She stepped closer. He backed her against the wall. 

He opened his mouth. She placed hers upon his. 

Then she was dragged down the stairs. Past the snake tapestry. 

Past the eyes in the common room. 

In his dorm, he lit that single candle. Then his lips were on her again. 

She rarely stayed in her own bed after that.

One evening, they were relishing in the warmth of each other. The warmth of the singular flame. 

That was when they promised. One year. 

One year before he left. 

One year and it was over. 

She hated making that promise. 

She shuts her eyes for a moment as she watches the now-small flame. 

It was dying. 

She felt like she was too. 

As the final burn took place, Hermione knew that it was time. 

When Draco's smell finally left her, she would move on. 

And when the lingering finally ceased, she went out and bought a new candle. 


End file.
